


Proving Ground

by BrighteyedJill



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-02
Updated: 2010-04-02
Packaged: 2017-10-08 15:19:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/76998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrighteyedJill/pseuds/BrighteyedJill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After an argument with his family at Coyote Sands, Peter flies away. Nathan goes after him to try to win him back, but a simple apology isn't going to fix things between them. Not this time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Proving Ground

**Author's Note:**

> This was tough for me to write, since it's not my usual dynamic. [](http://47-trek-47.livejournal.com/profile)[**47_trek_47**](http://47-trek-47.livejournal.com/) and [](http://jaune-chat.livejournal.com/profile)[**jaune_chat**](http://jaune-chat.livejournal.com/) can be blamed for trying to get me to see Petrellicest in a different light. Thanks also go to [](http://community.livejournal.com/ficfinishing/profile)[**ficfinishing**](http://community.livejournal.com/ficfinishing/) and [](http://anna-wolfe.livejournal.com/profile)[**anna_wolfe**](http://anna-wolfe.livejournal.com/) for helping me power through this bad boy. Also, here be D/s dynamics and angst. Spoilers through "1961" (the episode, not the year, cuz if you haven't caught up on the year 1961, you're never going to get caught up, and should probably stop avoiding spoilers)

  
Nathan usually enjoyed the feel of the wind on his face as he flew. Now, however, the onrushing wind was making it difficult to follow the flight of his wayward brother through the cloudy sky. He put on an extra burst a speed until he was almost level with his target. Nathan managed to get a hand on Peter's ankle, but Peter kicked back viciously. Nathan barely moved in time to prevent a bloody nose.

  
Peter was gaining ground again, threatening to disappear into the clouds. Nathan put on an extra burst of speed and grabbed Peter around the waist. Peter started squirming in his grip. Nathan stopped trying to keep them in the air, instead dragging on Peter.

"Pete, please," he yelled over the rushing wind.

Peter stopped flying, too, and they began to plummet together. "Let me go, Nathan!" He shouted. "Get away from me!"

"What can I do?" Nathan pressed his forehead against Peter's back, hiding his eyes from the onrushing ground. "Please, Peter. I'm sorry."

Peter pulled them up at the last moment, and they both tumbled onto the ground in an untidy heap. Peter sprung up right away, and stood looming over Nathan. "Fine," he said. "Prove it."  
\--

Peter opened the door to the hotel room. Nathan took a deep, calming breath and went in. He stood in the middle of the room, waiting, but Peter just stood in the doorway.

"What now?" Nathan asked.

Peter wore a hard frown, and expression that looked wrong on him. "I want you to prove you care about what someone else wants, for once."

Nathan chose his words carefully. "Peter, I do care, and--."

"So you've said." Peter sounded as if he'd swallowed something very bitter.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Peter strode closer, closing the distance between them. "You need to _prove_ to me that you can deal with not being in charge for once."

Nathan waved a hand dismissively. "Pete, I left Washington. I went to save Claire, and--."

  
"Yeah, about that," Peter interrupted. "You gave her a free pass. Why?"

"Because I'm her father," Nathan said slowly.

"Wrong." Peter was close now, inches from Nathan. "You did it to save your own skin. You didn't want her to reflect badly on you. But you didn't care if they caught me."

Nathan turned his face away. "I would never have let them hurt you," he muttered.

"I don't believe that, and I don't think you do, either."

Peter's words stung, but Nathan struggled to continue his argument. "Ask Claire. She'll tell you I've changed."

"I'm not Claire. You may have charmed her, but I've been putting up with your crap for years, Nathan," Peter said, drawing his chin up and managing to look down at Nathan. "I need you to prove to me--not to Joe Taxpayer, not to Ma, to _me_\--that you've changed."

"Fine," Nathan said evenly. "What do you want me to do?"

Peter's voice was sharp as the crack of a whip. "Submit."

Nathan stilled, but he didn't bother asking Peter to repeat himself. Nathan's mouth was suddenly very dry. "Okay."

"Okay." Peter went back to the door and put on the chain. He turned around, unzipped his jacket, and looked at Nathan expectantly. "Knees." Peter's voice was firm and commanding, and Nathan swore it sounded half an octave lower than usual.

Nathan's drop to the floor wasn't entirely graceful. He winced as he landed, but once he was there, he felt strangely comfortable. He kept his eyes on the floor, on the ugly grayish-yellow carpeting.

Peter walked in a slow circle around Nathan. "Take off your shirt."

Nathan stripped off his jacket first. He folded it and set it on the floor. Peter sat down on the edge of the bed. His expression was strangely unreadable. Nathan thought he knew all his brother's moods, but this was a darker, braver Peter than the man Nathan had dominated in the past.

Nathan slowly undid the buttons of his shirt without taking his eyes from Peter. He took his time, though he started to get nervous when Peter's inscrutable expression didn't shift at all. Nathan finally let his shirt drop from his shoulders, folded the garment neatly, and set it atop his jacket. A white undershirt was all that was left. He pulled it over his head, but now he realized he couldn't keep holding Peter's stare. After adding the folded t-shirt to the pile, he fixed his eyes on the carpet again.

Nathan liked to look at Peter. How could he not? Peter was beautiful, and perfect, and full of unconscious grace. But Nathan wasn't used to being scrutinized and examined like this. He couldn't see what Peter could possibly find so fascinating in him: old and scarred as he was. He remembered too well the look on Claire's face two days ago when she'd dragged him out of the bar. "Pathetic old man," her eyes had said. "Disappointment."

Peter, who had much more extensive and intimate knowledge of Nathan's failures, must have been having similar thoughts. "Stand up," Peter ordered.

Nathan stood. He tried to be patient. As Peter paced around him, he resisted the urge to turn his head and follow Peter's progress. "What should--?"

"Shut up," Peter ordered. His voice came from somewhere behind Nathan. "Don't speak unless I ask you a question."

Nathan stood still, listening hard, but he couldn't tell what Peter was doing. He fought the urge to turn around and look. He had to prove he could follow directions. That he was capable of being _good_. That thought send a thrill through him: Nathan wasn't a dog, or a child, but the idea that he could become better, that he could fix thing by just _letting go_ of control for once was intoxicating.

Peter stepped up close behind him. Nathan could feel the heat of his skin radiating against his bare back. Peter was naked.

He rested his hands on Nathan's hips. "Good," he said. "Relax."

Nathan made a conscious effort to breathe and let the muscles of his back and shoulders go slack. Peter's hands drifted around to the front of Nathan's pants and began undoing them. Nathan sucked in a breath in anticipation.

"No." One of Peter's hands drew back and smacked Nathan on the ass. "What did I say?"

Caught up in the sting of Peter's blow, Nathan couldn't work out the right answer. Peter smacked him again. "I asked you a question, Nathan."

"I'm _trying_ to relax," Nathan snapped. "This isn't exactly easy for me."

Peter grabbed a fist full of Nathan's wind-mussed hair and pulled his head back. "Heaven forbid this not be _easy_ for you. We all bend over backwards to accommodate _you_, to follow _you_. Are you even capable of operating without that? Do you even have the _capacity_?

Nathan closed his eyes. "Let me try, Pete. Please."

Peter released his hold and spun away to sit on the bed. "Go on, then," he said sharply, and waved a hand at Nathan's pants. "Try."

Nathan finished what Peter had started, toeing off his shoes, pulling off his socks, slowly stripping off his pants and stepping out of them. Ordinarily he wouldn't leave them lying in a heap on the floor, but he wasn't supposed to be thinking of his own desires. He was supposed to be thinking about Peter. And he didn't think Peter had much patience for formalities right now.

Nathan stripped off his boxers last, kicked them aside, and stood naked before Peter. He didn't know what to do with his hands. He fidgeted for a moment under Peter's watchful eye, crossing his arms across his chest before realizing he looked defensive. He tried clasping his hands behind his back, but felt as if he were hiding something.

Usually Nathan was good at figuring out what people wanted. He'd found that the best way to bend people to his will was to find out what they desired above all else and exploit that. But he had no practice deciphering what Peter wanted, because there had never been a reason to try. He didn't need to win Peter because he already _had_ Peter. He had always been able to get Peter to do exactly what he wanted. Until lately. Now he was staring down a stranger: a stranger whose approval he desperately craved.

Nathan settled on standing with his hands at his sides and head bowed.

Peter got up and circled him slowly. Nathan worked to contain a nervous shiver. Peter had seen him naked before, of course, but Nathan had never felt this exposed, this on display. He was hyper-aware of every part of himself: the muscles of his shoulders he was trying to relax, the puckered bullet-wound scars that marred his chest, his balls tightening in the cool air of the room.

Peter stepped up close to his left side, where the scars on his chin showed prominently. "It's not much," he said.

Nathan wasn't prepared for how much those words stung. He'd never taken any of Peter's insults too personally. After all, Peter was passionate, and easily excitable, and often said things he didn't mean. But Nathan had no doubt that Peter meant this. And Peter was right. Everything he'd done, everything he'd worked for had ended in disaster. He had nothing to be proud of. Except, perhaps, of the fact that his brother hadn't rejected him entirely. He felt tension and resistance drain out of him as he accepted Peter's dispassionate assessment: Nathan was no giant, no hero. He was only a man standing naked in front of the brother he'd betrayed, begging for forgiveness.

"How does it feel, Nathan?" Peter asked softly. "To be judged? Do you feel like a failure?"

"Yes," Nathan whispered.

"That's a start," Peter said. He took a step backwards, towards the bed. "Come here." When Nathan stepped forward, he wagged one finger warningly. "Ah ah ah." A mockery of Nathan's own tone. He pointed to the ground, and Nathan understood.

Nathan slid to his knees. What he really wanted to do was look at the floor, but he forced himself not to drop his gaze from Peter's. Nathan crawled. The very action of moving over the floor, bare skin dragging across the scratchy carpet, made him feel very small.

"That's it," Peter said. He perched on the edge of the bed and held out his hands to beckon Nathan closer. "Come on."

Nathan could easily see the allure in this. After all, Peter had crawled for him, before. He knew how hard he got watching his brother crawl, and he wondered if he was having the same effect on Peter. He hoped so. The thought made his dick twitch with interest.

Nathan tried to imagine what he would want, if he were in Peter's place. He slid in close, between Peter's slightly splayed legs, and found himself facing Peter's cock, bobbing half-hard between his legs. Giving into impulse, he leaned forward, nuzzling his face into it, reveling in the earthy scent of his brother.

"No." Peter slapped him.

Nathan rocked back on his heels, but retaliation was the farthest thing from his mind. More than anything, he wanted to figure out the right thing to do. He wanted to please Peter, to get to feel Peter's approval again: _Good boy. Well done._. He waited for instructions.

"Ask nicely," Peter said. He patted his hand against Nathan's cheek.

Nathan licked his lips. "Please." His voice sounded as if it belonged to someone else: gravely but breathy, as if he couldn't get enough air. He knew Peter wanted more from him, but he wasn't sure he could manage anything else. His cock throbbed between his legs, making it hard to think. He opened his mouth to say something else, but words failed him. His mind couldn't keep up with the need that pulsed through him.

"This _is_ hard for you, isn't it." Peter crouched next to him. "It's hard for you to turn off that big brain of yours." He brushed a hand over Nathan's cheek. "Even when you have the best of intentions... Sometimes you're just not strong enough. But you know what?" He stood up. "I am. Stay here."

He turned his back on Nathan and walked out of his line of sight. Nathan heard a tearing noise from somewhere behind him and off to his right, and his mind began to race through possible scenarios.

"Nathan." Peter's voice held a warning note. "I know what you're doing. You're still trying to control this. You want to know what's going to happen. Still trying to figure out what you should do. Just stop it." He came up behind Nathan and put a warm hand on his shoulder. "Let it go. I'll _tell_ you what you need to do. Don't worry about anything else."

Peter brought his hands up over Nathan's head, and Nathan had only a moment to register the strip of fabric before Peter was tying it around his eyes, blindfolding him.

  
"Is this going to be enough?" Peter asked quietly. The change from his previous harsh tone was surprising. Nathan wondered if he'd dropped his dominant persona momentarily, to make sure Nathan was all right. That was the usual kind of care Peter showed to those he loved. Nathan felt far from worthy of it. "Can you do this?"

"Yes," Nathan said. Now that he couldn't see, he was feeling strangely serene, like a hooded hawk.

"I can tie you down, if you need me to." Peter's voice was almost gentle. "Help you get used to this."

Get used to this. So there could be a next time? The idea sent a heated shiver through his belly and radiated down into his cock. He wanted there to be a next time. He wanted there to be a _this_ time. "I can do it," he said evenly.

"Go ahead." Back to business, time-out over. Peter fell silent, then, waiting for Nathan to back up his claim with action.

"May I touch you?"

"So polite." Nathan could hear the smirk in his voice. "Ma would be proud. Yes, Nathan, you can touch."

Nathan rose up on his knees and reached blindly forward until his fingertips encountered something solid: the soft skin of Peter's belly. Nathan drew his hands down until they rested loosely at Peter's hips.

It was easier now that he couldn't see. He was freed of the responsibility of analyzing the situation and determining an appropriate response. "Please." Stripped of its usual authoritative tone, his voice sounded soft and pliant. "May I suck your cock?"

Peter slid a hand through Nathan's hair to cup the back of his head. "Yes," he said. It sounded like _"I don't know, _can_you?"_.

Nathan traced one hand down the crease of Peter's hip until he reached the root of his cock. He wrapped his hand around it and tugged gently, pulling the skin tight. Peter wasn't hard all the way. Nathan was seized with a sudden ravenous desire to _make_ him hard, to give Peter as much pleasure as he deserved.

He guided his mouth onto Peter's cock, feeling for the tip with his tongue. He'd done this before, but it was different when he couldn't see what he was doing. Nathan concentrated on mapping out Peter's flesh: he swirled his tongue around the tip, ran his tongue along the prominent vein on the underside of the shaft, and sought out every ridge and texture, as if memorizing the landscape of Peter's body would reveal to him how best to please his master.

His master. He meant Peter. But here on his knees with his mouth full of cock, Nathan wanted Peter to have mastery over him. He was achingly hard, and he longed to touch himself, but he didn't think Peter would want him to, so he didn't. The decision was as easy as that, and it was the first decision in a long time that felt simple and righteous.

Nathan concentrated on Peter instead, listening for hitches in his breath or little gasps that might give clues to Nathan's success. Peter was certainly growing harder in Nathan's mouth, but he remained stubbornly silent. The hand clutched in Nathan's barely-long-enough hair was the only indication that he was still paying attention.

Not content just to lick, but eager to do _better_, to give Peter _more_, Nathan tried to swallow as much of his brother as he could. He hit his gag reflex faster than he would have thought, and reflexive tears sprang to his eyes. He hadn't known this was so difficult; Peter had always made it seem easy. Undeterred, he tried again with the same limited success.

"Shhh." Peter tightened his hand in Nathan's hair and pulled him back, preventing him from making a third attempt. "Up." His tone was firm, but it had lost the sharp edge of anger from before.

Nathan rose to his feet. Peter caught hold of his arm and steered him across the room. Nathan followed obediently, trusting in Peter not to let him stumble. After a half-dozen steps, Peter stopped them and tapped Nathan on the shoulder. "Hands and knees," he said.

Nathan started to sink to the floor again, but Peter caught him. "No no." He tugged Nathan forward and pulled his hand down so he could feel the edge of the bed. "Here."

Nathan's heart gave a nervous kick as he climbed onto the bed on all fours. He wondered if Peter wanted to hurt him. It was no more than he deserved, and if it meant showing Peter how sorry he was, Nathan would consent to it. He'd consent to anything that would win Peter back.

"God, you're so..." Peter broke off, and Nathan imagined him shaking his head in exasperation and disappointment. But when Peter's hand rubbed against Nathan's upturned ass, it felt like a caress. "You're beautiful like this."

Nathan bowed his head, and he was glad Peter couldn't see his blush. He wasn't beautiful. _Peter_ was beautiful, and he'd never told him enough, never praised him for how absolutely gorgeous he was, never thanked Peter for sharing that amazing body with him. "Pete," he began, but Peter's fingers dug into the flesh of his ass.

"No," he said firmly. "Not unless you're spoken to." His hand resumed its petting, firm strokes across Nathan's ass that made him tremble. "Good boy. Good."

Then his hand was gone. Nathan held still. For the first time, the blindfold seemed like a hindrance. He desperately wanted to know what Peter was doing, and he had to remind himself that it wasn't his concern. Peter would _tell_ him what to do, he'd made that clear. Silently repeating to himself, _I trust you, Peter_, he waited, naked and vulnerable on the bed, for Peter to make the next move.

Peter was back. This time his fingers, cold and slick, pried at the entrance to Nathan's ass. "You're lucky there was lotion," Peter said mildly. He didn't elaborate, but the rebuke was clear. Nathan deserved whatever Peter did to him, however rough he wanted to be. But Peter was merciful. He was the better brother, always.

Two fingers bore into Nathan. He was tight, yes, but he tried to relax and make it easier. He'd already begun to accept his place in this, and that helped him. He let his head drop onto the bed, and bent his elbows, leaving his ass in the air where Peter could use it as he wanted.

"You never let me do this," Peter said as he worked his fingers slowly in and out of Nathan. He wasn't accusing Nathan, merely making an observation. "How many times did you fuck me, and you never let me do this?" he asked.

"I'm sorry," said Nathan. And he was. If he'd known Peter could make him feel like this, he wouldn't have hesitated. But things then had seemed so sure, so easy. He took from Peter. That's what he'd always done. Peter offered himself up for the taking, and Nathan took him. It was a given, a constant.

Now it was time to even the score. Peter's fingers inside him filled a need Nathan hadn't known existed. His cock was stiff against his belly, leaking sluggishly, and the harder he got, the more he relaxed, letting Peter further in.

Peter added another finger, and his other hand came to rest on Nathan's hip as he set up a slow rhythm: in, twist, out, in, stretch, out. Nathan found his hips rocking gently with Peter's movements. He thought he might be able to come just from this. But this wasn't about him: it was about Peter. He had to relax, to let Peter prepare him so... So Peter could fuck him. The thought sent a delicious shiver down his spine.

"Has anyone else had you?" Peter's question threw Nathan out of his haze of anticipation and stopped him cold.

A pink flush crept up Nathan's cheeks. All the times he'd called Peter a slut and reveled in teasing him about his many conquests, and he'd never volunteered this information. He'd never wanted Peter to know that he was anything less than absolutely in control.

"Nathan." Peter regained Nathan's attention with a quick smack on his ass. "Tell me."

"Yeah," Nathan said. The single syllable came out in a huff of breath, and Nathan held perfectly still as he waited for a reaction.

Peter's hand had stopped moving inside him, and his fingers tightened on Nathan's hip. "You never let me, but you let someone else." His voice was brittle with disappointment.

"I'm sorry," he said again, because he was, and he wished he'd treated Peter differently, and he wished he could be good enough to deserve what Peter was giving him now. But the man he'd been, the man Peter was punishing him for being, he hadn't really _understood_ how much it would hurt Peter, if he knew. "I didn't--."

"No." Peter stopped him, and the hard edge had crept back into his voice. "I don't want to hear excuses. There's nothing you can do about it now."

As with so many things in his life. Failures he couldn't forget. Broken promises he couldn't fix. "I'm sorry," he whispered into the covers.

"It's not about that." Peter's fingers moved inside him again, faster now. "You can't fix some things, Nathan." He splayed his fingers inside Nathan's body, and Nathan bit back a gasp at the sudden shock of pain. "That's your problem. One of them. Too focused on your own mistakes. You don't think about other people."

"What do you want me to do?" Nathan asked meekly.

Peter's fingers jabbed into him again. "It's not about feeling helpless. It's about actually _caring_ about someone else more than you care about yourself."

Nathan shook his head at that, because he _did_ care, he _did_ love Peter. He'd die for Peter. The fact that he'd never said as much, had completely failed to make Peter understand exactly how much he was loved and valued, was unforgiveable. Nathan was ashamed that Peter had had to be the one to show him his error.

"Do you want me to stop?" Peter asked. His tone wasn't cruel; he was really giving Nathan a choice. His fingers twisted inside Nathan. It hurt, and it was too much, but Nathan was so hard. He didn't think he could do what Peter was asking. He couldn't, but he _would_, if Peter asked.

"Whatever you want," Nathan said. He willed himself to relax. "Do whatever you want." Offering himself up, a human sacrifice for past wrongs.

Peter pushed his fingers in further, and that's when Nathan realized he'd added more, added all of them. "Do you want my hand in you?" Peter asked. Again, neutral, testing Nathan.

That was probably impossible. It would certainly hurt like hell. But he _owed_ Peter, he reminded himself. He _deserved_ whatever Peter wanted to do. He spread his knees wider in answer, and tried to relax.

"Nathan... Nathan." There was a catch in Peter's voice. "I won't let you." Peter slid his hand out, and Nathan sobbed with relief.

Almost instantly, Peter lined up his cock with Nathan's stretched hole and glided in. It was so easy after all of that. Peter pressed into him in one fluid motion, until he was flush against Nathan. He leaned forward and dropped a kiss at the top of Nathan's spine. "Relax," he whispered. "You're okay. I've got you."

Nathan felt safe. Whole. When Peter began to move, there was no pain. He felt closer to Peter than he'd been in months, in years, maybe. Since they'd first flown together. This was like flying, almost: frightening but so damn right.

"I want to see you." Peter slid out and rolled an unresisting Nathan onto his back. He lifted Nathan's knees up and out, and slid his cock smoothly back in.

"You should see yourself," Peter said. "It's beautiful. When you let me... I love you so much."

"Peter." Nathan reached up blindly, and Peter let his hands slide from Nathan's legs so he could twine their hands together. Without his sight, it was easy, inevitable to concentrate on touch.

Nathan wrapped his legs around Peter and pulled, bringing him in as deep as he could. He tightened his body around Peter, desperate to _feel_ this, to have all of Peter inside him, to be _good_ for Peter.

Peter dropped closer, rolling shallow thrusts into Nathan.

"I'm sorry," Nathan whispered against his face. "I'm sorry. I didn't..."

"Shh," Peter shushed him. After all the orders, the power he had over Nathan, he didn't hurt him with it. That was the difference between them, that even when he was in charge, Peter could be tender, gentle, loving. That was power enough to hold Nathan in his sway.

"You're okay now," Peter told him. He untangled his right hand from Nathan's and slid it between them to close around Nathan's cock. After being denied for so long, Nathan was on the edge of his orgasm from the instant Peter touched him. "I forgive you," Peter whispered.

That was enough to send Nathan over the edge with a sob. His cock spasmed in Peter's hand, and his hips slammed up, taking Peter deep into him. Somewhere in the part of his brain that wasn't melting, he was grateful to Peter for giving him this, for letting him come with Peter's cock inside him.  
\--

The sweat hadn't had time to dry on their bodies before thunder crashed outside.

Where they lay tangled on the bed, Nathan and Peter both started, mistaking it for gunfire. An instant later, after reason had reasserted itself over animal panic, Peter sprang up. Nathan lay frozen in bed, disoriented and blind, until he remembered where he was, and what was happening, and that he was blindfolded.

"Storm came up out of nowhere," Peter said slowly.

"You think it means something?" Nathan asked.

"Do you? Oh." The side of the bed dipped under Peter's weight, and deft hands unknotted the blindfold and pulled it away. Peter held Nathan's face in his hands, turning it left and right as if inspecting it for damage. Then he let his hands slide away, and went back to the window. "Big storm in the dessert. What do you think it means?"

"Ma, Claire... Noah. They could be in trouble."

Silently, they began pulling on their clothes. Peter was ready first. He stepped out into the stinging rain. As he finished tugging on his jacket, Nathan fully expected Peter to fly off on his own. Instead, he waited, glancing back to make sure Nathan was coming.

As he stepped out next to Peter, Nathan asked, "Are we&amp;...Do you believe me?"

"I do. I believe you. That doesn't fix it."

"I know," Nathan said. And he did know, no matter how much he wanted to deny it, that it would take time to earn back Peter's trust.

"Come on. Let's get back to the family."

"Peter?"

"Yeah."

"I love you." Nathan tried to put into those inadequate words everything he felt for Peter: how sorry he was, how lucky he felt, how grateful he was that Peter had given him a second chance.

"I love you, too."

Peter put his hand in Nathan's, and they took off together.


End file.
